


Losing control

by ArieHolmesJr



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Fingering, Lube, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism, What happens in the walls stays in the walls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:37:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1595249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArieHolmesJr/pseuds/ArieHolmesJr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not knowing everything that Michael does when he goes into the walls slightly annoys Sucre.<br/>Maybe it would have been more sane if it'd stayed that way...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Losing control

Sucre didn't know what to think when he got back to their cell and saw Michael quickly slip a toothpaste tube in his pant's pocket before he turned around and gave him this adorable smirk of his. 

"What are you planning again?" Sucre asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Michael's expression didn't change one bit and even Sucre couldn't stay perfectly serious when faced to a smile like that.

"What makes you think that I'm planning something?"

"You always are."

Good point. Fairly good point. Michael chuckled slightly and turned around, throwing what looked like an empty little plastic bag into the toilet and flushing it before Sucre could take a better look at it. Great. Secrets, once again. The man walked to his bunk without a word, a little smile playing on his lips when, from the corner of his eyes, he could see Michael wrapping a towel around his waist and letting his shirt fall over it. He didn't bother to tell him that this was actually  _his_ towel and not Michael's. 

 

When the man hung the sheet that night, Sucre didn't stir from where he was lying on his bed with a book.

"Will you be long?" he simply asked, because it was already late and he wanted to know what to prepare himself for. He was used to being the man on watch, even though it sometimes bothered him to the point where he actually considered what C-Note told him about Michael only using him without caring. 

"... I might be. Just gonna work that hole a bit."

There was a slight hesitation before Michael added with a little smile:

"We should be through in no time."

With that, he slipped through the hole behind their toilet and disappeared into the walls. Sucre let out a sigh and brought the book to cover his face, inhaling deeply. Counting a few heartbeats as he pondered whether he should stay there quietly and wait for Michael's return, or try to go and find for himself what was happening in there. Michael wouldn't tell him much and, frankly speaking, he was OK with staying in the cell, but ... He just wanted to know. He really wanted to be part of that plan. Help Michael a little more than just by staying here and tapping against the toilet to tell Michael when to come back. 

After a few minutes, when he was sure that Michael would be working already and not still hanging around in the pipes, Sucre got up, cast a nervous glance towards the sheet covering their cell and went behind their toilet and past that hole in the wall. He knew the place a little, had come with Michael once and was pretty sure he knew where the man would be right now. Slowly but surely, keeping even quieter than usual, he made his way to the room where he and Michael had installed some projector. And there it was, the drawing of the devil projected on the wall, all light into the darkness of the room, contradiction that sent a shiver down Sucre's spine. Staying in the shadow, Sucre peered around the room in search of Michael, but the man was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, a soft groan caught his attention and his eyes instantly fell on the man who was sitting right there against the wall, in a halo of light. For a second, Sucre could only think of an angel crossing to the dark side, a more feral side to his only very human nature twisting in his guts at the sight that Michael involuntarily offered him. 

Michael had taken most of his clothes off and the merely underwear still clinging to his hips didn't stay in place very long. He was hard. Hard and sweaty and so damn pretty Sucre felt his knees weaken as he stared. Mike had one hand around his shaft, gently rubbing his fingers along the length at a deliberately slow and teasing pace. He wanted to make it last, the Puerto Rican thought, biting down on his lower lip in order to muffle the sound of his own breathing. Suddenly, Michael reached his hands up and slid them across his chest, flicked his thumb around one nipple and smiled to himself at the feeling, until he pinched it and Sucre heard him gasp. Legs spreading further, Michael slightly arched his back and started working his cock with one hand. From where he was, Sucre couldn't really tell, but he bet the man's breathing was becoming heavier with every painfully good stroke. It went on like this for a moment, Michael jerking himself  and dripping precum all over his own stomach, and Sucre should definitely have left a moment ago, should definitely leave now, but instead he watched as Michael finally reached for his pant's pocket and pulled out the toothpaste tube. He efficiently opened the cap with one thumb and spilled a fairly good amount of a translucent, slippery substance into his right palm. How he had managed to get his hand on some lube, Sucre had no idea, but when the man slicked his throbbing shaft and let some of the lube drip on the head in messy drops that he smeared with his thumb, his own breath caught and he closed his eyes for a second, hoping that the slick, maddening wet noises coming from Michael's masturbating session were loud enough to cover any sound he might be making beyond his control. 

Mike's right hand was sliding easily, up and down, up and down, not especially fast but definitely not teasing anymore. He was dripping, glistening and so, so hot, working himself harder, faster, clearly enjoying himself if the way he was arching against the wall and bucking his hips as if fucking his own fist was any telling. Sucre could see him gripping himself tighter, fingers closing at the base, delaying the orgasm that was threatening to rush over him, keeping himself from cumming right away. The man was good, the Puerto Rican thought, as he was mostly silent except for the pants and grunts that tumbled past his wet parted lips. Michael gave himself a minute to let the tension ease out a little, letting his cock slip from his slack hold and rest, still hard and flushed against his belly. When he looked up, clearly not seeing him but only staring into space, Sucre got lost in his bedroom eyes. Eyes that almost urged him to walk to Michael and finish him off. With his mouth, if Michael preferred. He'd swallow, if Michael asked in that slightly deeper voice, heavy-lidded blue eyes giving him that sultry look. 

Sucre snapped out of his daydream when he heard Michael shift and  _growl_  as he took hold of himself again. This time, he let his right hand slide down, but not up again. Instead, he added his left hand to the move, sliding it down his shaft and repeating. Only down strokes, alternating hands, right, left, right, left, working his well-lubed dick. It was messy and hot and wet, slick fingers sliding easily against the warm sensitive skin. If Sucre had thought Michael always was in perfect control, he had clearly never seen him masturbating. That was the most intense loss of control he'd ever seen, and if this had clearly started out as carefully planned, from the toothpaste tube full of lube to the way Michael started with teasing and slowly increased the pace, that was definitely not part of any plan. That was just Mike losing it completely, grabbing himself with both hands at the same time and frantically stroking up and down, mouth hanging open, his eyes rolling back as he let out the most beautiful sound Sucre had ever heard.  _Moans. Low, breathless moans ripped from his throat as he arched and twitched and worked himself hard until he couldn't hold it back anymore, until he came undone in front of Sucre's eyes and came, came hard and hot and messy._

Hot spurts of come shot all over Michael's upper body and both his hands, a never ending flow of liquid pleasure that made Sucre groan low in his chest. Michael was lazily stroking himself with one messy hand, enjoying the feeling that took over his whole spent body. He suddenly managed to milk a late, last rope of semen that hit him across the chin, clearly surprising him as his eyes shot open, wide and slightly shocked. Sucre would have laughed at that, if Michael hadn't darted his tongue out to lick at his lower lip, tasting himself slightly before wiping the rest away with the back of his hand. Damn you, Michael Scofield. 

 

Now would be a good time to leave. Sucre had been watching for a few minutes as Michael simply lay there, sprawled against the wall, naked and covered with lube and his own come. His breathing had evened out and he now smiled in this halo of light that made him look even more tantalizing, offered to Sucre's eager eyes. He looked like an awfully bad idea. He looked beautiful. 

The Puerto Rican was finally about to turn around and go back to their cell when the sound of a cap being opened caught him off guard. From his crouching position in the darkness, he watched as Michael spilled more lube onto his stomach, wondering what the hell the man was doing exactly. He soon had his answer when Mike scooped a fairly good amount of lube with an already slick finger, before spreading his legs even further. He hooked one arm behind his knee, pulling his leg closer and lowering his hand between his legs until he reached the tight ring of muscle he started to work on. His body lax from the previous orgasm, it didn't take him long to slip a finger inside with an obscene wet noise that almost had Sucre come in his pants. Michael was already half-hard again, the fucker, and _Ay_ _dios mio, he would be the death of him._

Pulling in, pulling out, in, and out, Sucre was hypnotized with the way Michael's ridiculously long fingers played with himself, working himself open for more. He scooped more lube, teasing himself with the tip of two digits, then slipped them inside, moaning at the intrusion as his body tensed slightly, then relaxed again as he began to thrust them in and out. Michael had so damn pretty hands. Perfect for this kind of activity, Sucre couldn't help but think, wondering if Mike would reach the spot with those long fingers, imagining how his body would jerk and twitch and disrupt the pool of lube on his stomach and--  _Ay, there it was._ Michael threw his head back with a barely muffled cry of pleasure, thrusting deeper, faster and curling his fingers in a way that made him lose it completely. Without caring for any more lube, he pressed a third finger to his hole, clenching his teeth as he tried to slide in deep inside along the two others, meeting some resistance, but not giving up. Soon enough, his muscles relaxed around it and he fully took the three digits with a groan, stretching himself, clearly going for the sweet spot again. Sucre was panting by now, thankfully Michael was a little louder than before, his mind still foggy with the previous orgasm to the point where he didn't care that much about staying quiet anymore. His whole body was trembling, his hand moving fast and his mouth falling open as he arched once again, barely able to hold his legs anymore as his body went limp and he came once again, against all odds. Not quite as messy as the first, but surely as hard and a lot more noisy. Sucre had to turn away from the view not to come in his pants like an horny teenager. 

As Michael grabbed the towel- _Sucre's towel, for god's sake!_ -and started cleaning himself up, wiping the semen and lube off his upper body and spent cock, then spreading his still shaky legs in order to wipe the mess between his thighs, Sucre finally got himself to move and stalked back to their cell without drawing the man's attention. He put their toilet back in place and went to sit on his bunk as if nothing had happened. If he was hiding his own erection under a conveniently placed pillow, Michael didn't have to know that. Grabbing his book, he pretended to be absorbed in it until he heard, a few minutes later, Michael coming back from the wall. The man straightened himself, fully clothed again, looked ridiculously good and relaxed. 

Sucre looked up from his book, glanced at him and the innocent smile that Michael sent his way made something twist in his guts. Quirking an eyebrow, he asked:

"So. Did you work that hole real good?"

From Sucre's tone only, or maybe from the way the corner of his lips twitched as if suppressing an upcoming laugh, Michael seemed to understand what he was implying and blushed furiously. Something was gleaming in his blue eyes, probably understanding, realization. Sucre acted as if he hadn't seen it and casually added, like one would state a simple fact:

"I'll be using your towel for the next few days."


End file.
